


While It Was Raining

by Dantes_Wombat



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Mostly Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dantes_Wombat/pseuds/Dantes_Wombat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their secret encounters always follow the same routine - but this time, something's different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While It Was Raining

It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it’s intense.

They are in a dark alleyway behind a random tavern, as safe from prying eyes as is possible in a city as crowded as Paris. It is raining slightly but steadily. The ground is muddy and covered in things that remain mercifully hidden in the shadows; the wall behind Porthos’ back is so wet and slippery he can already feel the damp creeping through his clothes.

Aramis, even though you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him very well, is drunk – otherwise they wouldn’t be here, but somewhere inside where it is warm and dry, with a pretty girl on Aramis’ knee and Porthos, well, Porthos watching and being as sober as he is right now. He never gets drunk for this, because he doesn’t care for forgetting in the morning. Sometimes, Aramis will frown at him when they meet again in the garrison the next day, as if something was scratching at the back of his mind; he never says anything, though, and Porthos doesn’t ask. He tells himself that it doesn’t bother him, and that he could stop giving in to this anytime, but it’s all forgotten when Aramis stays close to him in the tavern, doesn’t drink with anyone else, and then, in the darkest hour, walks out the door giving him _that_ look – which is how they ended up where they are now.

Rationally, Porthos knows that he should be disgusted by the smell of cheap wine on Aramis’ breath, by the sour taste that will surely be on his tongue, but his body already knows too well where this is headed.

Aramis’ hat is gone God knows where – and ooh is he going to be pissed about it – but for Porthos it is the perfect opportunity to bury his hands in his friend’s wavy hair, give a little pull and lead their lips together. The contact is electric, surging through their bodies like a charge. Porthos’ is overly aware of their beards scratching against each other, of Aramis’ body pressed fully against his, of the unyielding wall against his back that now holds up both of them. Aramis’ hands are scrambling over Porthos’ uniform as if searching for more contact, and when he finally pushes his tongue into his mouth, Porthos’ head collides audibly with the brick wall behind him.

Aramis is fast to react, though, and within seconds Porthos’ head is cradled in his left hand, fingers clenched in his bandana. Porthos is so busy holding on that the shock of Aramis’ other hand finding the bulge in his trousers comes as a complete surprise; the moan that escapes him is swallowed up by Aramis’ mouth as he nimbly undoes a few buttons and slips his hand inside. At that point, everything turns frantic. Porthos lets go of Aramis hair and drops his hands to the front of Aramis’ trousers; his fingers don’t want to obey him as Aramis starts stroking him roughly, mouth still pressed to his, but somehow he manages to get his own hand on Aramis’ cock.

None of them is being gentle. Aramis is pressing him into the wall with his whole weight, making it harder for Porthos to push his hips into Aramis’ hand; Porthos retaliates by stroking him faster and is rewarded with a punched-out groan and fingers tightening at the back of his head. Porthos doesn’t care anymore that they might be heard or discovered by anyone walking by, they’re both moaning and kissing and panting for air, and the world narrows down to the barely existent space between them. The rain is coming down more heavily now and they are both soaked, but none of them notices.

Aramis comes first, his hand stilling on Porthos’ length. He buries his face in the juncture of Porthos neck and shoulder, gasping, and Porthos can feel his whole body shudder. After that, it only takes a few strokes for Porthos to follow, and they cling to each other for a few minutes with the rain pattering on them, cooling them down. Eventually, Porthos manages to reach for his handkerchief and makes a valid attempt to wipe away the evidence of what they’ve done. When he is finished cleaning Aramis’ palm, Aramis doesn’t let go of his hand. He meets Porthos’ questioning gaze.

Aramis’ eyes are clearer than they should be in his inebriated state, and Porthos can’t for the life of him decipher the look in them – focused, searching, but also a bit surprised, as if he had just woken up to find himself in this scene. Suddenly, Aramis’ right hand is on his face, cupping his cheek in a way that is too tender for what they’re doing, too tender for them, and follows it up with a soft kiss on his lips. Porthos feels completely out of his depth, but as thrown as he is by this unexpected change in their routine, he is not stupid enough to pass up his chance. He grabs Aramis’ face and holds him there, until he can feel his friend smile into the kiss. They let go at the same time, reluctant, but now both smiling brightly. Porthos clears his throat.

“How ‘bout not being drunk next time we do this, eh?” he asks.

If he didn’t know him better, Porthos would read Aramis’ reaction as shyness, or embarrassment: eyes averted to the ground, a slight pink glow on his cheeks. But his voice is determined when he says “I won’t be. And I wasn’t tonight. Not really.”

 

 

The next morning there is no frowning, only laughter and silly teasing until Athos snaps at them to “calm down, for fuck’s sake,” but d’Artagnan draws him aside to discuss some thing or other, and Porthos thinks he couldn’t be happier if he tried. Judging from the twinkle in Aramis eyes whenever he looks at Porthos, the feeling seems entirely mutual.

**Author's Note:**

> More Musketeers and Portamis: http://knightsanddames.tumblr.com/


End file.
